


Gross

by Hilo



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Emetophobia, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hilo/pseuds/Hilo
Summary: Peter is a professor and he loves his students way too much. Wade tries to help.





	Gross

Peter doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach. His abdomen contracted to push the acid bile past his throat, again and again, until he was left shivering in a cold sweat and spitting saliva. He rested his head against the lid of the toilet bowl, not caring about the disgusting smell that was starting to creep upwards and just focusing on the cool porcelain under his cheek.

  
“Are you going to puke again?”, Wade asked behind him. He was holding a soaking wet cloth. Peter shook his head and the motion made him nauseous; he stopped, waiting for more vomit to come out but it seemed that it was all floating in the toilet. Gross. Wade crouched next to him and pressed the cloth on his forehead. He should have dried it a bit more because the water was starting to drip down Peter’s neck, but it was refreshing so he didn’t complain. Wade rested the head on the lid too. Even grosser. “Do you think you have gotten it all out now?”, there was worry on his voice and he was struggling to keep it down and comforting instead of obnoxious.

  
“I’m not sure”, Peter croaked. His throat felt raw from all the puking and moving his tongue made the disgusting taste appear again. “If only I knew what they shot us with”.

  
They had been patrolling the city, as usual. It was 3 in the morning on a Saturday and they were moving to the next club to look over the drunk people who started to head back to their homes. They had stopped a dude before, who was following an intoxicated girl and Peter paid a cab for her. Wade had been quiet since then. Not silent, he never stopped rambling, but there was an empty echo behind his words that was worrying Peter. He knew those were touchy subjects, but he wasn’t sure right there was a good time to talk about it.

  
Maybe it was because his attention was fixated on his boyfriend that the alarm set by his powers was noticed a second too late. One moment he was shooting a web to a rooftop and the next he was tripping on his feet and falling to the ground, a sharp pain on his inner thigh.

  
“Spidey!”, he heard Wade shout. But everything was starting to submerge under water, the pain becoming dull and overtaking his whole body.

  
After that, Wade filled in the events. He puked his guts out until blood came out and was left feeling uncoordinated, but the distraction was not enough for the villain to escape. Wade did not detailed how he stopped her, but he assured Peter the woman was alive. She was holding a small gun loaded with other two darts, twins to the ones shot at them. Wade then hurried to bring Peter to their apartment. He told him he had stayed unconscious for ten minutes before waking up and running to the bathroom, almost falling over.

  
“I should have taken the other two darts to examine them”, Wade lamented.

  
Peter managed to lift his hand from the tiles and dropped it on his leg, trying to make his fingers work in a reassuring squeeze. Everything felt numb and disconnected from him, like the orders his brain sent were delayed on their way to the muscles.  
They stayed there for a few minutes, until it was certain that Peter was not going to puke again (and the stench was starting to become even too much for Wade). The man helped him get on his feet and flushed the toilet after. Wade kept a strong hold underneath his elbows as he helped Peter, who had stubbornly insisted on walking to the sofa instead of being carried. Wade bought all the cushions from their bed to accommodate them behind his back and put a bucket on the floor next to him, just in case. He covered Peter in a thick blanket, hoping he would sweat any toxins left out. That’s how fighting poison worked, right? Or did Peter’s healing factor make it different? It sure made the difference between dropping unconscious and dropping dead.  
“Wade”, Peter called. His boyfriend had been standing there for a while, looking lost, like he was under the same detachment the poison created. “Bring me my black bag”.

  
Wade hurried to the entrance and retrieved the bag, holding it above Peter stomach before deciding that it was a better idea to leave it on his legs. Peter sat with effort and opened it, retrieving a thick binder and a red pen. He went through the pages and set a stack on top of the hard covers, uncapping the pen.

  
“Oh, no”, Wade said, once he realized what his boyfriend waa doing, taking it away from him. “I can’t fucking believe you”, his tone was accusing and the worry was starting to border the hysteria.

  
“I need these graded by tomorrow!”, Peter tried to defend himself, pressing the papers to his chest. He had been a chem and a bio teacher for enough years to have created a good reputation. If he had promised his students they would get their exams’ results on Monday, they were getting them on Monday. “It’s their final exam! It’s bad enough they have to wait a whole weekend to know if they passed or not…”

  
“They can wait for a whole eternity, for all I care”, Wade deepened his frown. He wished he hadn’t taken his mask off; he didn’t feel intimidating when Peter could read his expressions and see right through him. “I mean it”, he added, for good measure.

  
“I already puked all the toxic stuff out! I feel much better!”, Peter said, voice breaking on the last syllable, his still soft throat betraying him.

  
“And now you are sweating it out”, Wade pointed, pressing a hand to his forehead to feel how hot it was. It burned under his palm and made it sticky from the sweat.

  
“But that’s good!”

  
Wade just looked at him. Even if Peter’s eyes were half-lidded and glassy and he was struggling to control his breath, there was a strong determination shinning on them. Ugh. Why couldn’t Petey be one of those asshole professors who hated their students? He knew the answer and that is why he gave in.

  
“I’ll grade them for you.”

  
“What?”, Peter blinked. “You don’t know shit about chem!”

  
“I know you have a sample exam somewhere. I see you make them the days before”, Wade liked seeing Peter work. He became very focused on the task at hand and only lifted his gaze up from the papers to search any doubts on his computer. Sometimes he even turned to Wade to ask him which questions should he add to the quiz. It was often between an easy one to help them lift their grades and a harder one that was important for them to learn before moving to next lesson. Peter was a softie for his students.

  
“Okay”, Peter said, finally. And wow, he really must be fucked up, because he would have not given up on his treasured students’ best efforts plastered over paper so easily. He produced an exam identical to the ones lying on his lap, written in red ink and messy handwriting. “Wake me up if you don’t understand something, okay? Add one point for each correct answer.”

  
“What about the wrong ones?” Peter drifted his gaze away. “Aw, baby boy! You are way too sweet!”, Wade leaned down to kiss his temple, laughing.

  
“Shut up”, he grumbled, sliding back down and disappearing under the blanket.

  
Wade watched him, trying to push the worry and the voices (this is the last time you speak with him he is not waking up you are going to turn around and he is going to be dead and it’s your fault) down. The last ones were harder to drown because they echoed on the insides of his skull and were hard to distinguish from common sense talking. So he allowed himself to watch over him until his body relaxed and his breaths were deep and even. He then turned around and set everything on their coffee table, carefully choosing the cleaner spot. He had four hours until Peter’s alarm clock went off.

  
He put the first exam in front of him, next to the sample one, and grabbed the pen. He was filled with raw power instantly and had to remind himself that this was Peter’s job, so he really couldn’t fuck those kids’ lives just for the laughs.

  
Wade read the first name. Were teachers supposed to read them? Or they judged equally, without prejudices to cloud their sentence? Hell, who was he kidding? He pulled the laptop closer and searched the kid on Facebook, that linked him to her Instagram and Twitter. He was 2 years ago deep, five more opened windows later and almost done finding out if this kid’s third girlfriend left her for her friend Janet or for the popular Michelle, before he snapped out of it. He looked at the clock.

  
4:26 am.

  
Fuck.

  
He looked down at the exam, as if it had magically corrected by itself. There was no luck. He cursed again. He could fail himself as many times as he wanted, he had done so many times before and will keep doing so in the foreseeable future. But he could not fail Peter.

  
“You can do this, Wade Wilson”, he cheered himself, eyeing doubtfully the tangle of traces that formed Peter’s handwriting.

  
(You can’t)

  
That turned into a mantra that bombarded his head for a few minutes, but it was repetitive enough that it lost meaning and became a dull soundtrack to his task. He managed to decipher the messy and complicated words and the mantra toned down a little.

  
He finished by the time the sun was starting to filter through the dirty windows.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter woke up one minute before his alarm went off, to the smell of warm coffee.

  
“I didn’t make more breakfast because I didn’t know how your stomach felt”, Wade turned around and sat on the sofa. He knew coffee wasn’t exactly easy on the stomach, but he was pretty sure by now that it was the source of Peter’s powers. He handed the cup to his boyfriend, who smiled softly, still half-asleep, and tasted a long sip.

  
“Hmmm, much better”, he seemed to melt. Wade leaned to touch his forehead and was relieved to feel it warm, but not burning. Told you he wasn’t going to die. “I don’t feel dizzy anymore”.

  
Wade sat next to him as he finished the cup, facing the TV that was running some bright colored cartoon for children.

  
“I graded your papers”, he announced, proudly. He had pulled an all-nighter and his eyes were stinging, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t endured before. Hell, it didn’t even come anywhere close to his one sleepless week record. “I put them on the bag again”.

  
“Thank you”, Peter said. He knew his breath sucked, so he brushed his fingers above his lover’s lips, adding the softest of pressure. He didn’t know what he would to without Wade in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter walked in the classroom, which was filled with tension and anticipation. He was on four very shitty hours of sleep, so he opened his bag with fear. He didn’t know if he could put up with any bullshit right now and he hadn’t been able to check Wade’s work before hurrying to school. Turned out when Wade had said he had put the papers back on the bag he wasn’t leaving any step out of his explanation. The papers were pressed between the binder and the fabric, slightly wrinkled. Peter found the red pen on the bottom.

  
He quickly flipped them and couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face.

  
“What’s with the shit-eating grin?”, he heard one of his students whisper.

  
He brushed it off and started calling the names one by one, handing them their exams and watching how their expressions were confused at first and transformed into weary laughter, as if not believing what was in front of them.

  
Wade had followed his sample exam to perfection, circling each error and adding a 1 to each correct answer. But at the top of each corner, right under the grade, he had left a unique doodle. Most were unicorns and web designs, all of them surrounded by stars and hearts. Peter was glad he had left the usual “Spidey-booty” doodles out this time. But most of all, he was glad to see that none of his students had failed.

  
He sat back down and listened to his students’ doubts, working through the exam. It was exhausting work, but he somehow didn’t feel tired. Maybe it had something to do with the little doodle on the top of his own sample exam. It featured a crudely drawn Spider-man puking red ink. Underneath, in irregular lettering, it read: “Would clean puke off your pretty mouth any time!”.

  
Peter had to fight back a smile. Gross.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Wrote this a few months back, felt like publishing it now. English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistake, please correct my grammar!  
> This is just a silly thing I felt like writting~


End file.
